A contradiction, wrapped tight in mystery
by SoulEaterMarie
Summary: You are made of secrets, entirely and wholly, every broken, shattered bit of you is a secret, waiting to be lost in the depths of the universe.
1. Inigma

You're laying on his bed, and you feel like shit for it. You twist and turn, slouch, and then some. All the while, he sits calmly against your chest, his straw-like hair fallen against his face and your dull blue coated chest. He's calm, and silent, and has been for over an hour. Only softly and scarcely making comments about the Capitol.

But you stay, _hold_ him until he is content, or until he chases you out.

It's only for a while, you know that atleast. Only until Annie is saved, and brought back to the man beside of you. Only until his love, and the light in his eyes is brought back. Said light hasn't been glowing for awhile.

Until then, he has you.

He tells you that you remind him of Annie, with your flaming hair, and equally flaming personality. But you know that Annie is sweeter than you, the last time the two of you met she was, atleast. She reminds of sea glass, colorful, beautiful, out of something destructive. Broken bottles, smoothed into pebble-like shapes, with glimmering bodies, and copious amounts of beauty.

You don't know if she's changed, though she probably has. Seeing other players die around her has probably shot her sanity down the drain and into the sewers.

So you don't trust him when he says that you remind him of her.

You shuffle to the side silently as he twists an arm around your waist, and you sigh into his hair quietly. Not in disgust, or sadness, it is simply a sigh. A sigh that describes your emotions at the very moment, but yet leaves them to the most vast, dark portions of the universe, traveling until they are never found, or discovered again.

You are, simply, there.

Finnick, on the other hand, is broken. He was a sword when he entered his first games, thirteen years ago, sharp and strong. Now, he is a mere lance, thin, waiting to be snapped, looks that could kill but only a piece of steel to keep from destroying oneself. He is a lance, and you are simply there.

How quaint.

"It's twelve."

He informs you in his gruff, though brittle voice. A contradiction, though that is what Finnick Odair is. A contradiction, wrapped in mystery. A double-edged sword, though a brittle lance. Broken, but waiting to be shattered. Beautiful, but _deadly._

"I am well aware of the time." You grumble back, offering a slight squeeze to the chunks of muscle that is his arm.

"You should probabl-"

"I know what I should probably do, and that is go back to my quarters. Unfortunately, my comrade's life and soul has been wretched from him, and whisked away to the Capitol. And, for the time being, I fancy myself the dull glimmer in his pale eyes, and the wind through his straw hair. And, for that reason, I will stay with him through the night if I must, to calm his nerves and piece him together again." The words pour from your pale lips without a thought to stop them, though Finnick doesn't mind. He sits silently, before a soft chuckle escaped his thin lips, and he settled back against your chest.

"I'm not glass."

"You are." You murmur back to him when he tries to sit up, and you quickly shuffle a bit away, as if him seeing you would make what you are doing any more horrid. You catch the scent of sea and wind of his skin, and you are well aware that he misses home. You could care less about horrid District 4; Where you spent your days separating fish from octopi and crabs.

"I can't shatter."

"You can if I try." You remark back, hissing it under your breath, and he goes quiet. He knows your strengths, he knows that you are stronger than half the population. That you can throw a spear strait through the eye of a squid a quarter of a mile away, he knows that you can look someone and they will curse, hiss, or simply whimper in fear at your presence.

You are death, but you aren't, really.

You've never been in one of the Games. You blended in, slipping away at night to fish and curse and shatter bones. District 4 was your home, Hell. Then you would haul your sorry ass back to your house, fix yourself up long enough to last another day, then repeat. Your parents didn't care, they hated you; and much rather preferred your older sibling to you. You are a broken shard of glass, brittle and sharp.

"I can break you as well, but only for a small few." He murmurs back. He is well aware that your hobby is breaking yourself, and slowly piecing the shards of you back together. Though, each time, bits are left scattered throughout, leaving small, growing holes in yourself.

"A secret?" You question, chuckling. Secrets? That's all you are. Maybe that's why Finnick lays with you, waiting for the one he truly desires. He can get secrets from you, break you and build you back up again at his will, bend you and snap you, just to solder the pieces together as they shatter apart again. Your emotions, laying in the darkest depths of the universe, your sanity, lost in bits and pieces around you, your mind, falling apart, you are made of secrets and secrets alone.

"Of course. A small fee, I believe. I know how this somehow gets you off." He snorts.

"My wish is to be killed by you." You say it too quickly, you know that, because he goes quiet. Which he stays for an indefinite period of time, and you start losing track of it quickly.

"Your payment has been received."

just a li'l' somethin' I did in the middle of the night. Input is welcome and highly encouraged! 3

uwu


	2. Consume

You hunger for it.

You crave it, the bitterness on your tongue, the burning down your throat, and the blanks you drawl in it's haze. It's been weeks, or maybe even months, and you can't stand it.

Finnick calls you insane for wanting more of it, because it ate you from the insane out, and continues every second that you don't have more.

Haymitch is just as bad.

The shakes he gets, the throbs in his head, migraines, aches. He's hurt, and burning from the inside-out. He needs it, you need it, like you both need air.

So you make arrangements.

When Finnick asks you why you're heading to the infirmary, you snap a quick excuse of a headache and go on your way.

You weren't completely lying. Your head pounded, throbbing and shaking you to your core. You needed something to calm the damned thing down with, and fast.

You pass the right man on your way to said infirmary.

"Haymitch."

All it takes is a hiss between your teeth, and glint in your eyes, and he's trailing behind you like a lost mutt. A lost mutt with a crooked smile, greasy hair, and the largest beer gut you've ever seen.

Haymitch isn't much. Now, anyways. Whatever left of his broken soul and sanity has withered away, thanks to time and alcohol. You don't blame him, even without being in the games, you find yourself shuffling back into the infirmary, stealing bottles of medical alcohol, and taking off down to your dorms; the blonde, older male running along after you.

So you shuffled closer to the cabinets, snapping at one of the more nosy workers when she questions you.

"Do you /know/ who I am?"

The young female's pretty, big brown eyes widen, and she quickly goes back to work. A pity, really, one that young working in a hospital. She only looked about fourteen.

Your age when you began working in docks.

Drawling out three large, brown bottles of the medical grade, concentrated alcohol, you slip them into your satchel; before slipping out smoothly. They won't notice. They never do.

You could care less if they did.

What would they do, make you the Mockingjay?

You make your way through the winding halls, until you reach your dorm. It's too white here, you can smell it the few times you head out of your dorm, most of the time to Finnick's.

When you open in, the smell of sea fills your nostrils, and you hiss.

"Get the fuck out."

Finnick doesn't look phased, just grins from his position at your desk, and you grumble for the broken man behind you to shut the damn door.

When it closes, Haymitch, haggard and weary, falls against your bed; effectively covering the entire mattress with his broad chest, and muscular arms. You throw one of the bottles at his head, and frown when it hits his shoulder instead.

"You're going to get caught one day, and get in a lot of trouble-"

"I know, I'm hoping."

It's bitter on your lips, but you get through half a glass before you start to feel dizzy, fuzziness enveloping your brain, and covering you with sweet, sweet oblivion. You wish you could always feel this way, honestly. It's better than holding Finnick, or watching squids squirm as you rip them apart. It's beautiful, as colors burst around you, vivid and robust.

You're so buzzed, you can feel the sweet substance vibrating through your veins, flashing through your arteries, combusting into your heart.

It's warm, fuzzy, as you lean against the table; the bottle barely hanging off your fingertips. You don't feel guilty in the slightest; whoever was injured, needed this less than you.

Haymitch flashes a thankful smile, which you reflect. He stuffs the rest of the bottle into his jacket pocket, stands, and shuffles off to his own dorms, probably to sulk, or sleep. Both options sound equally charming to you, at the moment.

"You're going to drink your life away."

"That's the plan."

"You're so apathetic. It's pitiful, such a pretty face going to waste. You're going to turn out like Haymitch-unable to control yourself."

"Haymitch has helped me more than you ever have."

It doesn't hurt, or sting when you hiss it. Usually, the regret of such words would overwhelm you, especially when aimed at a person like Finnick. But now, you can just feel numbness, coursing through your veins, as making you almost vibrate.

"By giving you alcohol?"

"I've already had alcohol. I worked in a fish-yard my whole damned life. I went home with sailors, of course I've known alcohol. It's my longest, possibly only friend."

"What this all about, Dosi? Is it a cry for help-"

"Nothing is. Don't call me that, it isn't my name."

How stupid. Finnick believes you're hurting inside. Well, of course you are. You're burning, aching, your insides are coursing with flames and singing you slowly. It hurts, as you feel the water source, the end of your suffering is but a few feet away.

You know what it is.

He does too.

"Dosidicus, don't do this to yourself."

"Leave me to myself, and my friend." You pull the brown bottle closer, narrowing dull grey eyes at the male, who sighes, and stands.

When the door closes, and you're alone, you feel hot, wet tears drip down your face and neck, and you shake with not only rage, but sadness as well.


End file.
